


When The Party's Over

by makewavesandwar



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Battle, Beelzebub's Internal Monologue, Blessed weapons, Blood, Blood and Gore, F/M, He/Him Pronouns For Gabriel (Good Omens), Hell wins, Hellfire weapons, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Internal Monologue, It's gotta come sometime, Mercy Killing, My anxiety is my beta, She/Her Pronouns for Dagon (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), The Author Regrets Nothing, The Great War (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Uriel (Good Omens), Yes this fic is based on a Billie Eilish song, fluff in flashbacks, this is not a happy story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:48:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22155043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makewavesandwar/pseuds/makewavesandwar
Summary: Glory.This was Beelzebub’s only thought as they whipped through the battlefield, rending angelflesh apart with their blades.Glory and victory.That was all they held space for. That was all they allowed themselves to.--The War finally comes, like they all knew it would. Difficult choices must be made in wars.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 62





	When The Party's Over

**Author's Note:**

> What happens when I "accidentally" listen to _when the party's over_ by Billie Eilish on repeat for three days while on an ineffable bureaucracy kick? This nonsense, apparently.

_Glory._

This was Beelzebub’s only thought as they whipped through the battlefield, rending angelflesh apart with their blades. _Glory_ , and the satisfaction of watching the tables turn, of the outcast becoming the victors, of a new order in the cosmos. The chance, perhaps, to kick down Her door and demand an answer, or to bring to Her the same that they were bringing to the angelic warriors here – destruction from metal smithed and seasoned with Hellfire, the same flame in their eyes.

_Glory and victory_. That was all they held space for. That was all they allowed themselves to.

The War had come, later than they had first hoped, but just in time. Humanity had bumbled awfully close to several arcane truths, close to harnessing Creation itself, and both Above and Below had agreed to put a stop to that. The mortal letches suitably dispatched, the two armies faced each other and saw that the fight was not over. And so it began.

_Glory_.

The demonic forces were truly ravaging those of Heaven, and it made the Lord of the Flies want to bellow with something akin to joy. Pools of golden ichor softened the ground around them, feathers and weapons and shredded corporations like shrapnel, like refuse. Not all of Hell’s weapons would permanently kill the angels, but the highest-ranking demons were certainly not pulling punches today.

Beelzebub had been waiting for this moment for thousands of years. They had crowed viciously as they watched Her light leave Sandalphon’s eyes, one of their blades deep in his chest and the other carving that unsettling smile right off his face. Fire filled their lungs, their skin, their _soul_ with every victory, every ethereal being struck down, and they clung to it, _chased_ it, searing themselves into the present moment. No room to remember anything but wrath, bloodlust, and _glory_.

The Prince sunk their teeth into the neck of some under-angel as they heard a trumpet blast loudly across the field. A decisive rip soaked their regalia in gold as they turned toward the sound, expecting a certain purple-eyed Archangel at its source. Instead, they saw Dagon, jagged teeth similarly gilded, triumphantly holding the instrument aloft; behind her were several figures on their knees, swaying unsteadily.

Spitting back a mouthful of sickly-sweet ichor onto the corpse of the angel it came from, Beelzebub motioned to the demons around them to converge on Dagon. As they approached, the huddled forms became identifiable as Michael and Uriel, each badly wounded. Uriel in particular was barely conscious, leaning heavily on their companion, who despite her wounds had a fierce expression in her eyes. The two Archangels’ wings lay severed on the ground behind them, already beginning to gray.

Dagon looked practically euphoric. “My Lord, my Prince! The Archangels have surrendered! Heaven is defeated! We’ve won!”

Beelzebub let their lips entertain a smile for a moment, before their gaze came to rest on the trumpet again. It was slightly scratched, splattered with black and gold. No use delaying the inevitable.

“Where’s Gabriel?” They asked flatly.

The joy in Dagon’s eyes faltered, though she maintained her grin. “Lord Leviathan got ahold of him. The Archangel managed to overcome him with a blessed weapon, but not before our Lord dealt a mortal wound. He’s laying over there, dying, and yours to finish off if you like.”

Michael made a choked sound, which Beelzebub might’ve echoed if they’d had the freedom to. Instead they followed Dagon’s gesture to a heap of broken white feathers smeared with demonic ichor. They approached slowly, willing their legs not to shake, their eyes to remain clear. _Glory_ , they whispered to themselves, _only glory_ , but as their gaze fell on the Archangel the emotions they’d been repressing crashed into them like a tidal wave.

~~

_“Don’t you know I’m no good for you?”_

_They’d said this to the Gabriel dozens of times, if not hundreds – teasingly, angrily, achingly, in playfulness and in deadly seriousness._

_Each time, his response was the same: “And if I said I liked it like that?”_

_There was no definitive moment when their working relationship became something more. It would’ve been easy to blame the failed Apocalypse – the ‘dress rehearsal’, as the Archangel had cheekily taken to calling it – but that wasn’t the whole truth. Feelings had been simmering for centuries, skirting either of their realizations, until one day the sun rose over an Earth that should’ve ended and they found themselves in the middle without knowing they had begun._

_Frantic, angry sexual rendezvous had mellowed to tenderness, a mindless, gentle companionship more intimate than anything either had known before. The two had taken a residence on Earth, carefully commanding their closest underlings not to pry too deep, top-secret business, and had comfortably wasted weeks of their lives in perfect afterglow. It was ostensibly the only time and place Beelzebub could remember feeling safe._

_And then the blessed mess with the humans started up. As it became more and more clear that celestial action would be required, and that many in leadership saw this as an opportunity for a re-do, a proper Apocalypse, the contentedness of their residence became manufactured. They each knew what was coming, and what it would mean if and when they met in battle._

_They mostly tried to avoid thinking about it._

_Only days before the appointed time to terminate humanity, the Lord of the Flies woke from a violent dream sobbing. Gabriel had gathered them in his arms, warm and solid and good, so blessedly good, and they’d barely whispered, “Do you love me, Gabriel?”_

_He’d laughed, though not unkindly. “Don’t you know already?”_

_“Tell me again. It’ll help.”_

_He’d lowered his lips to their forehead, clammy with sweat from their dream, and replied. “I have loved you more than any other thing in Creation, my Prince. I have loved you more than I can contain, more than I can express, more than I know what to do with, and I will love you that way until the end of days. And when it comes, no matter what happens, I will love you still, truly, until my last breath.”_

_They’d scoffed against his chest, grumbled something or another in dissent, but silently begged anyone listening that it might be true._

~~

They collapsed more than knelt on the ground beside Gabriel’s limp form, the strained rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was still living. The wound from Leviathan’s weapon was not deep – it would’ve disintegrated the Archangel instantly, if it had been – but the singed edges and uncanny burning smell left no question that it was a Hellfire weapon. A quick scan of his aura revealed the creeping flame within, consuming his angelic essence piece by piece; a mortal wound indeed.

Brow creased in pain, Gabriel didn’t seem to notice the Lord of the Flies’ approach until they carefully laid their hand on his arm. The whites of his eyes seemed grayer as he opened them, the purple irises redder. He gasped as he drank in the sight of them, covered in the golden blood of his fellows but still there beside him, _his demon_. Their eyes shone with the pride of battle, but beneath that sheen was absolute distress.

“You’re dying, Gabriel.”

Beelzebub spoke very quietly, barely moving their lips. As if Dagon didn’t already know, hadn’t already guessed. As if their shaking fingers on his arm were invisible.

He wheezed out a laugh. “I’d wondered what this excruciating pain was, thanks for the update.”

Their trembling lips flinched towards a smile as a single tear escaped their left eye. “Shut up.”

Gabriel closed his eyes again, focusing on his breathing. The pain was worst around the wound, of course, but he could feel it radiating outwards and moving quickly. “How long do I have, Bee?”

“Not long now. A few minutes at most.” They paused, steadying their breath as best they could. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

“I know, me neither.”

~~

_“Who do you think would’ve won, if those idiots hadn’t averted the End Times?”_

_Gabriel hummed thoughtfully, pressing soft kisses into the Prince’s shoulders. It seemed like ages ago, but in truth only a few years had elapsed. “Hard to say. My faith tells me Heaven, but from what you’ve told me of Hell’s forces it could’ve been a slaughter.”_

_They nuzzled closer into him, skin to skin under the impossibly soft sheets of the bed they shared in their Earth residence – their home. “We had plans to take as many of you high-ranking angels alive as possible, wring out the satisfaction of beating you a little longer with some public torture. But I think I would’ve been selfish and kept you for myself, if I’d gotten the chance.”_

_His smile against their neck filled them with warmth. “Heaven had similar plans. I wouldn’t have enjoyed seeing you killed or tortured, even then. One silver lining, I suppose.”_

_The Prince squirmed around to face the Archangel, nearly glancing away from the soppy tenderness in his brilliant purple eyes. “If we had met on the battlefield, though, I wouldn’t have shown you mercy. Not before… all of this.” They gestured between them, planting their hand on his warm chest. “I’m not sure what I would do now. I hope I don’t have to find out for a long time.”_

_Gabriel brought his hand over theirs, raising it to his lips and kissing them sweetly. “I hope so, too. It will certainly be… complicated. I’m not sure I can afford to lose you, Bee.”_

_They furrowed their brow at the sentiment. “How about this – we will either avoid each other in the battle, let the chips fall as they may, or we’ll provide the swiftest possible end. No suffering, no torture.”_

_He hummed again, pulling them closer into his arms. “Deal. But let’s not think of such things now. There is no war today, and we’re together. That’s all I need.”_

~~

Tears were coming in earnest, now, though the Prince was able to stifle the sounds. Gabriel flinched below them as Hellfire prickled into his wings, the sickly smell intensifying as feathers began to melt. A quick peek through his eyelashes confirmed the distress and indecision on Beelzebub’s face, and he exhaled sharply.

“You promised me no suffering, Bee.”

They pressed their eyes closed and clenched their fingers on his arm. “I know. We’ve already said our goodbyes. I just need a moment to decide how to – what would be the quickest way.”

His other hand rose to cover theirs, burning feverishly hot. They refused to open their eyes as they heard him gasp again, felt the shocks of the advancing flames echo through his aura. Fingers shifting, they laced their hands together as they drew their Hellish blade.

_Glory,_ they thought feebly, with absolutely no conviction.

A true sob escaped them, and behind them Dagon coughed to cover it. Gabriel smiled weakly, though the Prince’s eyes were still squeezed shut. “I love you now as I’ve always loved you, Bee, but you have to let me go.”

They took a final shaking breath, opened their eyes, and plunged the dagger into Gabriel’s chest. The effect was instantaneous – with a gasp and a final shudder, he disintegrated, soul first and then body. Distantly, they could hear Michael screaming and some of the other demons cheering, but it was barely audible over the pounding of their heart in their ears and their own unvoiced screams. All that remained of the angel were a few ruffled white feathers which had separated before the wound was dealt. They snatched one up and pocketed it before it could blow away.

~~

_“Wait.” Gabriel had insisted, the first time. They’d been dancing around each other for days now, finding excuse after excuse to meet on Earth, and this time the dam had finally broken. Angry ranting had devolved into furious kissing, and the Prince now found themselves atop the Archangel in a posh hotel bed, thoroughly disheveled. They frowned as he slid a hand into their hair, almost gently. Gentle was not what they were here to do._

_“How do I know that you won’t hurt me? That this isn’t some sort of Hellish trick?”_

_Beelzebub let a devilish smirk color their face as they leaned down to nip at the angel’s neck. “I’ll only hurt you if you let me, angel, or if you beg for it.”_

_He yanked back on their hair, hard. “In that case –”_

~~

As the rush of blood in their ears subsided, the Prince was struck with how quiet everything had become. It was over, _really_ over, and Hell had won. No more humans. No more angels, save the few taken prisoner. An unguarded stairway straight up to the Almighty Herself, and the wretched, shaking anger in Beelzebub’s chest demanding some answer, some scrap of reasoning. _Was it worth all this, Mother? Really?_

They slowly stood, brushing the dirt from their knees. Dagon met their eyes with a sympathetic grimace as they turned before quickly resuming her joyful smile. Uriel had collapsed fully, and Michael was weeping tears so bitter the Prince could smell them even at this distance. The other demons grinned variously, slapping each other on the back, kicking at the empty corporations of angels on the ground.

The Lord of the Flies closed their eyes, focused on their breathing, and released the sweet images of their lover into oblivion. _Breathe in. Breathe out._

When they reopened their eyes, they shone blue and clear as crystals.

_Glory._

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, and come visit on [tumblr](makewavesandwar.tumblr.com) if ya like!


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